Friday, September 27, 2013

Home Sweet Home

I am currently in love with the poetry of Laurie Sheck.

A Quiet Skin

Thinking has a quiet skin. But I feel the break and fled of things inside it.
Blue hills most gentle in calm light, then stretches of assail
And ransack. Such tangles of charred wreckage, shrapnel-bits
Singling and singeing where they fall. I feel the stumbling gait of what I am,
The quiet uproar of undone, how to be hidden is a tempting, violent thing—
Each thought breaking always in another.

3 comments:

I love how she refuses to let the language stay within the expected bounds. Every few words the landscape being created bucks and frees itself. She sets my brain on fire. I am challenged by and in awe of her skill.

October Country

...that country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain...